


I need you (do you need me?)

by Imiaslavie



Series: once I truly have you (I won't let you go) [Roceit + platonic Loroceit AU] [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Honesty, Hurt/Comfort, Logan has feelings and he is ready to speak up, Post Episode: Selfishness vs. Selflessness, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 19:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18697954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imiaslavie/pseuds/Imiaslavie
Summary: They say love comes in different forms.Logan has spent a lot of time pondering this statement and its implications. Does it mean affection comes in different forms too? Does care? Can actions change their meaning depending on the person who performs them?Can you care for someone and stay true to yourself?





	I need you (do you need me?)

**Author's Note:**

> A direct continuation of the first story! Please read [a cry for help (is often silent)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18622426) first to truly understand what is going on.
> 
> I was originally planning to continue this series but I wasn't sure how... until in the midst of a conversation with one very-invested-in-angst person I dropped the words 'They won't let Logan care'. And that was it. I knew what I had to write.
> 
> This story contains crying (once again, I'm sorry), pain and honesty. And the weight getting lifted from one's shoulders.
> 
> Not beta-ed.

They say love comes in different forms.

Logan has spent a lot of time pondering this statement and its implications. Does it mean affection comes in different forms too? Does care? Can actions change their meaning depending on the person who performs them? 

Can you care for someone and stay true to yourself? 

Theoretical evidence suggests _yes_. 

Empirical evidence suggests _no_. 

Logan has each and every attempt of his to show affection towards the other Sides carefully written down in one of his numerous notebooks. Neat columns with dates, circumstances, recipients, the exact words said and actions done. The table is filled with Logan's strict small handwriting. There's only one thing missing. 

The column _‘What did I do wrong?’_ is completely empty. 

It taunts him each time he adds another incident to the table. 

He hates it. He hates that he lacks knowledge, that his ability to process information and reach conclusions fails him. He hates it so much that one time he ripped the notebook to shreds... only to meticulously copy the notes down into a new notebook, squinting at the wrinkled pages, piecing the jagged fragments together like a puzzle until the lines of words fit. He worked on it deep into the night, and when the morning came, the dark circles of exhaustion under his eyes were the only thing hiding the signs of crying. 

Logan wants to care. 

They won't let him. 

They want him to loudly declare his love and do grand gestures, but that's _not who he is_. And he won't break himself to mould his behaviour into something they would accept. He wants to be accepted the way he is. 

Today, he felt like an outsider more than ever before. When the scenario ended, the six of their group appearing in the living room, it was like nothing has changed. Logan felt like he still was sitting at the last row of the stands of the courtroom, far away, even though he was standing right next to everyone. What the difference does distance make if they refuse to listen? 

The sense of calamity washes over Logan the second he steps into his room, the air cool and fresh. He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose, toes off his boots. The soft, silky fibres of the carpet tickle his feet. In a pleasant half-darkness of the room, the only light sources are little fuzzy balls of light, floating around, covering everything with a soft blue-ish glow. 

Logan makes a cutting motion with his palm — and one of the walls twists, extends, disappears, showing an endless-looking passage behind it. Its walls and ceiling are nothing but shelves full of books, the number of them so sheer that no one would ever manage to count all of them or even manage to guess how many are there. He walks along one of the walls, his hand gliding over the books’ spines. He doesn't know what he wants. He closes his eyes and continues his way into the depths of his library, feeling up the textures of covers: paper, skin, glossy paper, canvas, tears repaired by tape, title letters so thick you can read them with the tips of your fingers if you try. At one point, his fingers bump over a thin but tall spine, its surface smooth. He takes a hold of it, takes it out and looks at it. 

Logan laughs. 

He looks at the book of quizzes and puzzles with fondness. A thousand and one questions (Logan counted them once, the preface doesn't lie) about anything and everything, covering dozens of topics, varying from very easy ones to really puzzling. Thomas loved it very much once upon a time. He's outgrown it, of course. The real book was given away to one of his twice-removed nieces. But in the Mindscape it's preserved, the pencil marks of chosen answers carefully rubbed away. 

Logan comes back to the room and sits down on the floor, his back pressed against the bed. One of the lights obligingly hovers closer. 

The knock on the door interrupts him on the question three hundred ninety-four. 

Twenty-three seconds after, he is greeted by the sight of Roman with such a vulnerable expression on his face that Logan's heart skips a beat. Without a question, he ushers Roman inside and locks the door... and then, following his gut feeling, wishes it away completely. The only way to reach them now is to call through the constellation etching on the wall, but others know it's only for emergencies. If the door is gone, it's for a reason. 

“Two thousand, four hundred, and seventy-seven.”

Logan smiles, watching Roman's hand glide over the dark wood of the ceiling shelf. “Good try. But no.”

Roman mutters something about the _next time_ and flops down on the floor, right near where the puzzle book lies with the pencil used as a bookmark. The lights start circling around him, drawn to their creator. Roman offers his palms, and one of the lights sinks right into them, hovering over them like a weird fuzzy pet. Roman coos at it, making it bounce. 

He clearly doesn't realize how its treacherous light reveals the signs of what he went through. 

“You were crying,” Logan states, sitting down by his side, and winces when Roman's shoulders stiffen. Ah, of course. He wasn't supposed to bring attention to that, not in such a frank way. 

Roman is silent. His eyebrows furrow, but not in anger, more like in... contemplation. Deep thinking. He keeps rolling the ball of light in his hands — and then abruptly traps it between his tightly pressed palms. The light dies down, coloring the skin between Roman's fingers bright red. 

“Yes. Yes, I was,” he finally says in a surprisingly steady voice. “You know why?”

“I… no.”

Roman turns and stares right into Logan's eyes, his irises deep black. “Do you _want_ to know why?” he asks with almost a challenge in his voice. 

Logan doesn't cover under his stare. Of course he wants to know. He wants to know, and understand, and make sense of it, and help. He wants every detail even if it will take hours to tell everything. 

He simply says, “Yes.”

Logan has always thought it’s impossible to read him. But fight leaves Roman's body so fast, relief and hope and gratitude written so obviously on Roman's face, that Logan can't help but think that Roman has heard _everything_ that wasn’t said out loud.

_—if it’s possible to read him, why hasn’t anyone ever done it? Why do they keep misinterpreting everything he says? Do they actually see right through him but decide to ignore him? Do they—_

Thus, Logan decides to try one more time. 

“Yes,” he says again, nodding, “yes, I do. I'm listening.” 

And Roman tells him everything. About how the future doesn't promise anything good and how present isn’t better. About how fear fills his lungs and makes him want to hide forever. About how he isn’t sure that the next time Thomas will ask him for help, he will _want_ to help. About the walls filled with pieces of paper with hastily written ideas, and photos of actors that inspire him, and articles about producers he admires — about how he tore everything down and felt that the mess of multicolored paper, ripped red string, and pins was a perfect representation of his dreams. About how he doesn't want to work on his acting skills anymore, how he can't go on stage. 

About how he has always feared for everyone to know he is a step away from being a complete failure. 

And Logan listens. 

“I don't want this,” Roman continues in a shaky voice. “I don't want to give up. But I can't do it on my own. I... I know it's selfish, coming to you, and you have every right to refuse me, but—” 

“Selfish?” 

“In the court. I was treating you awfully. I let others talk against you, I let Deceit put you in the corner.” 

Yes. That... that hurt. But... “You _let_ them? Why?” 

“I thought you would take Patton's side. I'm sorry. I really am. I just wanted that callback so freaking _bad_.” Roman bites his lower lip. “I'm sorry for leaving you out of the discussion. I just... I needed someone to speak _for_ me, someone, anyone, and... and I couldn't get that, so I thought my chances would be better if there was one less person to speak _against_ me.” 

“I don't understand. You _chose_ the wedding.” 

“Yes! Because you know what the alternative would be? Others would hate me for it!” Roman takes a shaky breath. “No, I know, hate is a strong word. They would resent me. They would blame me. I wouldn't be able to take it. But I can't take this either!” His voice wobbles. 

Logan watches the first tears roll down Roman's cheeks. He watches his hands shake. He thinks about everything he's heard. 

“You thought we would resent you for telling the truth. You told _me_ the truth. Are you not afraid of my... resentment anymore?”

“God, Lo, of course I'm scared right of my mind! I can't lose you too. I can't lose that little respect you have for me. I just can't. But... Logan... please. I know it was selfish, coming to you, and I hurt your feelings, even if you won't admit it, but—” 

“You did,” Logan interjects quietly. Roman immediately falls silent, looking at him with wide eyes. “You _did_ hurt my feelings, Roman. A lot of times. At the court, too.” An understanding flashes on Roman's face. A realization. Fear. Fear is something Logan feels too right now, now that he knows Roman can read between the lines. 

“Logan, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, I—” 

“You know what else does it mean?” Logan's throat constricts. He can do it. Honesty for honesty. Trust for trust. “It means I care. I care about you, Roman. I understand why you did what you did. I'm glad you came. Roman, you...” Logan swallows, fearing he might choke. “You are not selfish. I'm glad you came. I'm glad you trust me. I'm glad...” _That you need me. That I'm more to you than someone to insult, more than a person to have poetry battles with, more than your enemy_. “Roman. You are not alone.” 

With a sob, Roman surges forward and wraps his arms around Logan's shoulders. The light flees, now free from the prison of his hands, circles above them erratically before crumbling into hundreds of tiny lights, falling down like snow. 

“I... you aren't alone too, okay?” Roman says feverishly against his ear. “Just let me... I just need a little help to get back on my feet. Just a little. And I'll be there for you too. I promise. I'll show you.” 

Logan's arms tighten their hold on Roman's body. “I know, Roman. I know.” 

Roman laughs, a short but bright laughter, and then weeps some more into Logan's shoulder. Logan watches the dance of the light particles above them. His eyes are wet. 

“You are... very brave. For coming. I would probably never...” _Open up. Try to show that I'm vulnerable. Put that much trust and hope in someone I wasn't sure would accept me._

Roman lets out another laugh. “Not that brave. I had help.” 

“Help?” 

“Deceit.”

Dece... Oh. That's... “Did he give you a,” Logan quickly searches through the mental Rolodex of his slang words cards, “pep talk?”

"More like he ripped into me, threw every hurtful truth into my face and watched me cry my lungs out.” He chuckles. “And it worked. He has his methods, and they're not nice, but...”

“Necessary,” Logan says. “Sometimes you have to break a bone once more to set it correctly and heal it.”

Roman huffs. He lets go of Logan's shoulders and sets his back against the bed, just so his legs are thrown over Logan's. He is close. It feels better than sitting together on the couch during family movie nights. It feels like Roman takes support from Logan's mere physical presence, it feels... good. 

“He led me right to your door. Disappeared the second I knocked, though. I wonder if he really trusted me not to chicken out...” He falls silent for a second, his fingers playing with his sash. “He also said, back in my room, that none of you would hate me or think less of me.” Another pause. “He helped me. He stood to gain nothing from it, but he came anyway, listened to me, offered advice, just literally took my hand and led me to you so you could help me too. Makes one... wonder, you know?” 

Logan nods. He sees what Roman means. 

Roman reaches for the quiz book, taking it carefully into his hands. He flips the pages from the beginning, the ones Logan has filled out. 

“Oh, you missed one!” Roman exclaims, grabbing the pencil. “Oh, I _know_ this one!” he adds with even more enthusiasm. Logan bends over to see the question. It's about the authorship over an ancient Greek play. It was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't remember. “It was that Euripides dude, I'm sure.” Roman quickly checks the answers at the end of the book and beams at Logan, apparently being proven right. “Do you... do you want to solve the rest together?” 

Despite accusing everyone else of being incapable of reading between the lines, Logan isn't capable of doing it either. But right now he knows with certainty what exactly Roman's request entails. 

_You need me and I need you. Even if I can do something on my own, I'll be glad to share it with you._

Logan nods and shifts to sit side by side. He doesn't conjure a second pencil. Roman does conjure a dozen more lights. 

It seems that today, finally, he didn't do anything wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> As you could gather from the name of this series, I'm going to build a relationship between Roman, Deceit and Logan. The main focus will be friendship, family ties, trust - but at one point, romantic Roceit would take place. Don't dwell on it now, though. We have a long emotional road ahead of us. All three of them need to learn their worth as seen through the eyes of the other.


End file.
